All Things Are Known
by MsBarrows
Summary: A fourth young Alistair story, looking at his first few years as a student in the chantry school in Denerim.


_Those who bear false witness  
><em>_And work to deceive others, know this:  
><em>_There is but one Truth.  
><em>_All things are known to our Maker  
><em>_And He shall judge their lies._

_- Transfigurations 1:4_

* * *

><p>Alistair watched the courier departing, the pony Alistair had ridden here from Redcliffe on a lead behind him, then turned to look again at the sister he had been handed over to.<p>

She smiled warmly down at him."Follow me, child," she said.

Alistair nodded, picking up his bundle of belongings, and followed her into the school. It was a large building, of good solid stone with a slate roof, tucked in back of the grounds of the Denerim chantry. The first floor of the building had a large refectory, a small library, an even smaller chapel, and a good-sized common room. The second floor was divided into classrooms, and the third floor and attic spaces were divided into dormitories for the live-in students, and quarters for the teachers and such servants as the school required. Which was very few, as Alistair was to learn – most of the chores within the school were taken care of by the students themselves.

The sister led the way upstairs to the dormitory for boys in Alistair's age range. He was out of breath by the time they reached there, and close to having another coughing-fit, something he'd managed to avoid for the last two days. The sister frowned in concern at him, then showed him which bed and storage chest was his. "Put your things away, child, and wait here; I will send one of the teachers to fetch you."

Alistair nodded, and watched her leave before beginning to untie his bundle. By the time he had his few possessions put away – several warm changes of clothing, soft shoes for indoor wear, his warm cloak, and so on – his breathing had evened out again. With nothing better to do, he sat down on his bed, hands clasped in his lap, and waited for the teacher to arrive.

Other children arrived first; boys, a large group of them, from just under his age to about mid-teens, at a guess. They looked at him curiously, but by and large ignored him, busy with putting things away and changing from their current clothes – lightweight indoor clothing – to something heavier and more suitable for wearing outdoors. After a while one of the larger boys stalked over, and stood looking Alistair over.

"You're a scrawny little thing," he said. "What's your name? Where are you from?"

"Alistair. From Redcliffe."

"Redcliffe? That's about the far side of the country from here, isn't it?" he said, then turned his head to call across the room to another boy. "Hey! Koris! He's a country mouse!"

The boy so addressed turned and looked Alistair over, then shrugged and turned away. Alistair squirmed a little, noticing that a lot of the boys were glancing curiously at him now. It reminded him uncomfortably of when he'd first been made a stable boy; and how the other boys had stared at him, right before they'd started making it subtly – and something not-so-subtly – obvious that they didn't think he belonged with them, an attitude it had taken ages for him to change.

Thankfully, before this current situation could get any more uncomfortable, a tall, skinny man walked into the room. His head with topped with an explosion of wispy light brown hair, he had watery blue eyes, and the most prominent adam's apple Alistair had ever seen. He looked around, quickly focusing on Alistair, and pointed at him with one long, skinny finger.

"You. You're the new boy, yes?"

"Yes, ser," Alistair said, rising to his feet. The man stalked over, his walk putting Alistair incongruously in mind of one of the long-legged wading birds you'd sometimes see in the marshes back home.

"Name?" the man demanded.

"Alistair, ser."

"First _and_ last name, boy!"

Alistair flushed. "No last name, ser," he mumbled. "Just Alistair."

"Someone's bastard, are you? Fine, just-Alistair, come along with me," the man said, and turned and stalked away again.

Alistair hurried after him. The man had a very long, rapid stride, hard for someone as small as Alistair to keep up with, and Alistair was gasping for breath by the time they reached the floor with the classrooms. The teacher turned and frowned at him.

"Why-ever are you blowing like a broken bellows for? Are you not fit, boy?"

"No, ser, sorry ser. I was..." he had to stop and gasp for air before continuing, feeling a little light-headed, and again on the edge of a coughing fit. "I was sick, ser. Broke my wind. It's why I was sent here, I can't work any more."

The teacher snorted. "Being a clerk is damned hard work, boy. Though not in a way you'd recognize as work, I suppose – what did you do before?"

"Stable-boy, ser."

"Really? Little bit of a thing like you?" he said, surprised, and leaned down, picking up Alistair's hands. He smiled, rubbing a thumb against the heavy calluses there. "So you have. I suppose you have a damned good idea of what real work is, then, unlike some of the soft-handed youths we regularly get here. Well, this is a different sort of work you'll be learning here, young Alistair," the man said, and turned away, resuming his walk but at a slower pace. "We'll be working your brain more than your body, though you'll be expected to keep fit as well; slovenly habits are not tolerated. A clerk should be nimble in both body and brain, neat in person and manner, quiet, and attentive. Think you can be all that, boy?"

"I can try. Ser."

The man grinned. "Good enough answer for your first day here. Well, let's get to seeing how much you know. Have any of your letters or maths yet?" the teacher said as he led the way into an empty classroom, and gestured for Alistair to sit down on one of the bench seats before leaning against the desk at the front himself.

"A little," Alistair said. "They had me going down to the chantry at the village for lessons, since I turned ten."

"Ten? I'd have guessed you for eight. Small for your age, then."

"Yes, ser."

"So what were you learning at the chantry?"

"Reading and writing, and some numbers. I can add, and subtract, if I have something to figure on or can use my fingers. And if the numbers aren't too big," he added anxiously.

"Any history? Geography? Heraldry?"

"No, ser. Just the Chant of Light."

"Hrmmm. We'll need to stick you in with the youngest kids, I suppose. You may take some teasing about that. Just ignore it, apply yourself, and perhaps you can catch up. No shame if you can't though, as long as you _do _learn. A learned child is a blessing upon his parents and onto the Maker."

The teacher spent a little time testing Alistair's writing and reading and maths. He seemed cautiously approving of how much Alistair knew already, and when a mellow bell sounded through the building some time later, gave Alistair a pat on the shoulder. "Enough for today, that's the dinner bell. Come with me, I'll show you where the refectory is and where you should sit. Someone will bring you your class schedule before lights-out tonight. And I'll mention that you should be forgiven heavy exercise until your health improves. You'll probably get teased about that, too," he added cheerfully as he led the way out of the room and down to the first floor.

Alistair didn't think that sounded at all reassuring, but followed the man into the refectory, where the teacher pointed out a long table over near one wall before heading off to a round table where several other adults – teachers, sisters, and brothers, guessing by their clothing – were taking seats.

Alistair took a deep breath, and walked over to the table to find a seat. He hoped he'd like it here.


End file.
